


Not a patient nor a prisoner

by xylia1225



Series: Help us survive being alive-Wilton Fics [1]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Fluff, Friendship, Gen, M/M, Roommates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-22
Updated: 2014-04-22
Packaged: 2018-01-20 10:20:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,063
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1506971
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xylia1225/pseuds/xylia1225
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Frederick discovers he feels safer in Will Graham's home than his own.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not a patient nor a prisoner

Dr. Frederick Chilton had tried to return to his home, to his regular life, after being released from the hospital.  He had driven up his driveway and walked slowly up to his door, clutching his cane so hard his knuckles turned white.  He had paused there, staring at the doorknob, doing his best to regulate his breath.

 _The house is empty_ , he had told himself.  It had been his mantra as he left the hospital, as he drove, as he walked to the door.  He mumbled his mantra under his breath, unlocked the door, and walked inside.

After he had closed the door, he heard a _beep_ that sent his heart racing.  He had gripped his cane tighter as he fell back, grasping at the doorknob.  As he caught himself, he spied the newly-installed keypad by the door.  It was for the new security system he’d had installed while he was in the hospital.  He needed to enter the password.

That was all the beep was.  Just a keypad.

He straightened himself up, cleared his throat, smoothed his suit jacket, and entered the password.  Then, he reset the password.  He’d reset the password again when he left, and again when he returned.  He’d always had a good memory, and the extra security measure helped put his mind at ease.  But it wasn't enough.

Curious that, somehow, Dr. Frederick Chilton felt safer in the home of Will Graham.

Will had no security system.  His front door had two locks, his back door had one.  The windows were all open to let in the warm spring air.  But Abel Gideon had not been left, half-eaten and dying, there.  FBI agents hadn't been disemboweled there.  

When Frederick had arrived at Will’s home, unannounced, he had done his best to hide his shock and appreciation as Will smiled and let him in, no questions asked.  Will had offered him some lunch.  It was nothing impressive, that offer.  Peanut butter and jelly on cheap white bread.  That day, however, the thought made Frederick’s stomach rumble.  The hospital food had, of course, been repulsive, particularly the vegetarian options.  And he had not been able to eat in his home.  At his own house, when he had entered his kitchen and opened the refrigerator, it had been empty.  The cabinets and the pantry were also empty.  All of his food had been confiscated by the FBI.  Of course it had.

Frederick sat on Will’s couch as Will prepared their food.  The dogs padded around him, sniffing his feet, his cane, his face.  At first, Frederick did his best to sit upright, despite the low, soft, worn and sagging couch.  He held his cane in front of him, like a barrier.  One of the dogs jumped up next to him and began licking his hand.  Frederick snatched his hand away, moving to wipe the slobber on the couch, but he was too slow.  The dog worked its way under his arm and began licking his face.  Frederick fell back into the couch, laughing in spite of himself.  He pat the dog's head as he pushed himself up again.

Then, suddenly, the dog's attention snapped away and fixed on the front window.  The dog barked and ran to look outside.  The other dogs followed, all barking.  Frederick’s heart began to race and his stomach churned.  He stood up and walked briskly to the window to join the dogs, his cane shaking with his hand.  His eyes were wide with fear as he looked out.

Down at the bottom of Will’s driveway, a mailman stuffed some letters into the mailbox.

“Down, boy,” Will said behind him, smirking.  “Just the mailman.”

Frederick’s face flushed bright red. 

“Thank you, Mr. Graham,” Frederick replied, laying on as much sarcasm as he could muster.  “I can see that.”

Will wasn’t fooled nor fazed by the snarky façade. 

“You know you can just call me Will, Frederick,” Will stated simply.  “I am not your patient, your prisoner, or your colleague at the moment.” 

Frederick shifted uncomfortably as he sat at the table.

“Then what are you, Will, to me?” Frederick asked, accepting his peanut butter and jelly sandwich.

“A friend, I suppose,” Will replied.

Frederick ate his peanut butter and jelly sandwich, sitting opposite Will.  He suddenly felt awkward and out of place.  He glanced around at the dogs, who would occasionally look back at him and his sandwich.  He wanted to give them a piece, but he was just so hungry...

He winced as a pain shot through his face, originating from his cheek.  The pain medication was wearing off.  He touched the wound gingerly, rough stitches scratching at his fingertips.  And searing pain.

"Do you have your painkillers with you?" Will asked as he studied Frederick.

Frederick's eyes rolled to the side, then came back to Will.  "I left them at home," he stated.  Without a word, Will started to stand.

"No, no," Frederick said with a wave of his hand.  "I-wait, you don't have any pain killer prescription, Mr. Graham."  Frederick smirked.

"No, I don't," Will replied, giving his own smirk as he sat back down.  "And again, Frederick, call me Will.  It makes me uncomfortable to be addressed so formally in my home."

"Indeed," Frederick said with a raised eyebrow, leaning back.  "Anyway, I chose not to continue taking my pain killers.  They fog the mind, a prospect I'm not too fond of at the moment."

"Understandable," Will stated.

Frederick stared around the room for a moment, then cleared his throat.

"I'll take my leave now, Mr.-...Will."  He stood, finding balance with the help of his cane as his head spun from pain.

"Are you sure you're alright, Frederick?" Will asked with sincere concern.

"I can manage the pain," Frederick replied.

"I don't just mean physically," Will said softly.  Frederick considered his words for a moment.

"Abel Gideon is dead," he replied, his tone a confusion of victory and mourning.  "Hannibal Lecter is locked up and awaiting trial.  There is no reason for me to feel unwell."  Will shrugged and took the now-empty plates to his sink.

"As you say, Frederick," he replied.  "You are the psychiatrist."

Frederick nodded and tapped his cane on the floor.  His mouth opened to speak, but the words escaped him.  Instead, he simply turned toward the door.

"Thank you for lunch, Will," he said as he exited.


End file.
